“The four of us will be living on site,” Hawk begins, his voice level and unemotional. “Gunnar and Jagger havealready established a command center in the study and have enhanced security at all points of entry and exit to the property?—”
“Living on site?” I interrupt, my gaze flicking between them. “All four of you? Here?”
“Yes, ma’am. You do not leave the property under any circumstances,” he continues as though my interruption was merely a mild inconvenience. “No exceptions. No trips to the store, no visits with friends, nothing. Your world is now this house.”
Yourworld is now this house.
The words feel like a death sentence. I think of my dorm room, of the lecture hall, and the crappy coffee in the student union. I think of Gabe and his last text, full of anger and frustration. Rumors are probably spreading around campus about my departure, and he probably thinks I’ve just upped and left without saying a word to him.
“You will follow our directions for your own safety at all times,” Hawk continues, oblivious—or indifferent—to my reaction. “We will handle your meals, your schedule, and your communications. If we tell you to run, you run. If we tell you to get into the panic room, you go. No questions asked. Is that understood?”
I stare at him, before my gaze passes over all of them. Damon is standing by the door, his face an unreadable mask staring back at me. Jagger is leaning against the doorframe, looking like he’s enjoying the show. Gunnar stands at attention near my father, ready for a war. Hawk continues to lay out the rules of my new prison while my fatherwatches me with desperate, pleading hope, as if he expects me to thank him for this.
“Fine,” I snip, the word a shard of ice. “Whatever.”
I turn and march up the grand staircase, my footsteps echoing on every step. When I reach my room, I slam the door shut behind me. Closing it on a life I worry I may never return to.
As I stand at the edge of the circular drive, the iron gates grind shut behind us with a hydraulic groan that vibrates through the night. I glance up at the residence, the white stone walls glowing beneath manicured landscape lighting and sprawling windows, gleaming gold against the night as a fountain whispers softly from the center of the drive.
The ambassador’s residence was designed by architects who cared about prestige, not tactical defense. It’s a shortcoming that we’ll have to compensate for. Security lights flare to life, sweeping across the perimeter walls in slow, methodical arcs as cameras pivot overhead. The armed embassy security has doubled the number of posted sentries at our insistence. This house is no longer a home; it needs to be a bunker.
As my gaze sweeps over the property, I can’t help but catalog the weaknesses still to be addressed. The front gate is the only gate, leaving us no alternative exit strategy. There are too many trees outside the perimeter along the north wall. The windows, while beautiful and expensive, leave the ambassador and his daughter vulnerable.
The slam of a door echoes all the way down to the foyer. And Mackenzi descends the staircase inside. Her spine is rigid, her long dark waves swing behind her with every heated step, and her round cheeks are flushed with fury.
She’s actually a little adorable.
Jagger stretches lazily beside me like we’re standing at a fucking vacation resort instead of the middle of a live cartel threat. “Well,” he mutters, shoving his hands into his tactical pants. “She seems… pleasant.”
“She’s scared,” Hawk states flatly.
“She’s pissed,” Gunnar corrects.
“Both,” I mutter. Fear and rage look almost identical, and right now she’s wearing both like a tailored suit.
Hawk glances past me, his dark eyes sweeping over the estate with cold calculation. The ambassador’s residence sprawls behind him, wealth, prestige, and catastrophic security vulnerabilities. “The primary threat remains external kidnapping attempts. Secondary concern is infiltration through staff or diplomatic channels for an assassination attempt,” he shares. “Until we know how much intelligence the cartel has, we assume worst-case capability.”
Cartels have money, reach, and patience. I’ve seen firsthand what organizations like that do. They don’t rush. They erode, bribe, and manipulate. They wait for exhaustion and routing to soften their target, then they strike. Violently.
“Rotations,” Hawk adds. “Two-man active patrol at all times. One interior. One exterior. Eight-hour cycles.”
He points at Gunnar first. “You’ll take the overnight perimeter.”
Gunnar nods once. “Copy.”
“Jagger, surveillance and tech.”
Jagger presses a hand dramatically to his chest. “Finally. A job that appreciates my many talents.”
Hawk ignores him entirely before his gaze shifts to me. “And Damon”—I already know what’s coming before he says it—“Close protection.”
I let out a heavy sigh. “You’re assigning me to babysit?”
“I’m assigning you to the highest probability contact point.”
So… yes.
Jagger smirks. “I heard you two already bonded on the plane.”
